


Not That You Ain't Feelin' My Charm

by gilligankane



Category: Guiding Light
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-10
Updated: 2009-07-10
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:28:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilligankane/pseuds/gilligankane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well I don’t…” the voice under the covers stops abruptly and she waits for the loud shriek she’s prepared to hear; waits for the lump under the covers to scream bloody murder. Doris doesn’t disappoint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not That You Ain't Feelin' My Charm

There are  _so_  many things wrong with this situation.

The first might be that she’s  _very_  naked.

The second could be that this isn’t even her bed, in her room, in her house.

But the third, and most  _important_  thing wrong with, with  _this_ , is that she’s not alone.

“Ah, the light,” the lump next to her – the  _naked_  lump next to her, she notices – all but screeches, burrowing deeper into the covers. “Shut it off. Shut if off!”

She can’t shut it off; it’s the goddamn sun.

And she says as much.

“Well I don’t…” the voice under the covers stops abruptly and she waits for the loud shriek she’s prepared to hear; waits for the lump under the covers to scream bloody murder.

Doris doesn’t disappoint.

“Oh my  _fucking_  God,” she shouts into the top sheet and Blake has the sudden urge to tell her not to take the Lord’s name in vain, then realizes she’d probably sound a lot like Natalia, so she settles for smirking and waits for Doris to come out of her hiding spot.  “Oh my fucking  _God_ ,” she repeats again, softer this time, barely causing the top sheet to lift off the shape of her mouth.

The mouth that she remembers from the night before, as it made its way down her neck.

“ _Oh my_  fu –”  

“Doris,” she hisses, clamping a hand down on the sheet and her finger slides into the hollow space where Doris’ mouth is, finding wet cotton. “Shut  _up_  already.”

Slowly, the sheet pulls back and –  _yup_ , she says to herself,  _Doris is definitely naked too_  – auburn hair pokes out little by little until the top of Doris’s forehead comes into view, followed by her eyes and her nose and her mouth…

The mouth that she remembers from the night before, as it traced the outer shell of her ear.

“Oh. Hey Blake,” Doris says too casually, shrugging her bare shoulders, pretending that she didn’t just scream like a little girl watching Casper for the first time.

“Oh, hey  _Doris_ ,” she mocks, glaring.

“Uh, hey,” Doris repeats. “Fancy meeting you here.”

 _Here_ : in Doris’s bed. Without clothes.

And Blake only has two thoughts running her mind right now: damage control and  _God, she looks good._

“I’ve got to go,” Doris mutters, rolling off her bed with practiced ease, bare feet slapping against the floor. “It was, uh, well I don’t  _remember_  how it was, but I’m sure it was halfway decent, so, uh,” she scratches her head with one hand, holding her sheet around her body with the other. “The door’s downstairs, you’ll find it.”

Doris is halfway out the door heading towards – she assumes – the bathroom when Blake comes back to her senses, naked and (now) alone in Doris’s bed.

“Oh, oh! No you don’t!” She gets out of bed too – not as gracefully as Doris though – and beats the other woman to the door, slamming it shut in front of them. “Listen Romeo, you don’t leave  _me_  in your bed and tell me where I can find the door.”

Doris gapes at her, tightening her grasp on her sheet with her mouth hanging open.

The mouth that she remembers from the night before, ghosting down her calf-muscle and behind her knee.

“Romeo?” she finally asks.

Blake scoffs, because that wasn’t what she wanted Doris to get out of the little rant. “Doris,” she sighs.

“Seriously:  _Romeo_? Can’t I be, I don’t know, Tibult?” She pauses to think. “Oh, well, no. Yeah, he was killed, wasn’t he? Actually, can’t I be Hermes, or Ophelia, or any other _female_  Shakespeare re –”

It feels natural, to shut Doris up this way: stretching across the distance between them and pressing her mouth against the corner of the Mayor’s catching her in mid-word and sentence, because it feels like she’s done this before.

Well, technically, she did this last night.

Because somewhere in between the first martini and the  _continuing_  conversation about how to get Olivia and Natalia to stop being so goddamn mushy all the time, she did this.

In between that last round of pool and giggling over the bartender’s lack of subtle flirting towards Olivia, she did this.

In between Natalia dragging Olivia out the door and Doris shouting about her new best friend being  _whipped_ , she did this.

It felt  _right_  then and it feels  _right_  now.

Except that Doris has morning breath and she wasn’t even aiming for the corner of Doris’s mouth but that’s where she ended up anyway and Doris kind of squeaks which is rather unattractive and kind of off putting, but Blake sighs contently anyway, because she can taste her own lip gloss on Doris’s lips and isn’t even mildly embarrassed that a woman her age uses  _lip gloss_.

That, and Doris kisses her back.

Somehow, her hands end up going from clenched by her side to tickling the edges of the sheet where it rests against Doris’s shoulder bones, and she presses a little harder, smiling at the way Doris sighs.

Smiling at the way Doris moves forward and Blake can feel  _everything_  under that thin jersey cotton sheet.

“Oh,  _no_.” Doris pulls out the kiss, pushing hard against her chest, panting. “Yeah, see  _that_  was a mistake.”

Blake takes a second – a  _minute_  – to just stare at the other woman, trying to figure out if she’s joking or not.

Doris isn’t joking.

“You realize you’re naked?” Blake feels the need to point out.

“So?”

“ _So_ , it doesn’t really  _matter_  if I kiss you now, does it?”

Doris shakes her head slowly. “We were a little drunk.”

Vaguely, Blake remembers table-dancing and doing seven shots in one minute and the tangy taste of lemon mixed with salt and she agrees: they were a little drunk.

Okay, if she wants to be honest with herself, they were  _a lot_  drunk – her mom used to whisper a rhyme to her that she could never remember until it was too  _late_ : Liquor before beer, in the clear? Beer before liquor, never sicker.

Well, she’d  _definitely_  done beer before the shots and the vodka and the martinis.

And she’d  _definitely_  ended up drunk.

So-freaking-what?

“And it might have gotten out of control,” Doris continues, wrapping the sheet tighter around her and Blake resists the urge to tell the other woman that it might not be the best idea to do that. “So let’s not,  _what_?”

Blake remembers to breathe long enough to speak. “You, uh, you look good in that sheet.” She swallows hard.

Doris’s eyes follow the movement and Blake  _swears_  she sees a glint that she didn’t see at the bar, but that she saw  _afterwards_  when that hideous checkered jacket was buried underneath Blake’s skirt and Doris’s dress shirt and she can’t help but give a feral smile at the memory and the way that Doris’s mouth parts slightly.

The mouth that she remembers from the night before, as it pressed against her hairline.

“I bet,” and she’s going to  _kill_  herself later, for saying this, but she doesn’t care right now, because Doris is waiting and her mouth is a little dry. “I bet,” she tries again, “you look better without out it.”

If Doris starts to laugh, she’s leaving.

But Doris just sort of stares: like she doesn’t really expect Blake to say anything like that, ever. So she decides to push her luck and takes a step closer, sliding her hands around to the front of Doris’s body, tugging a little on the sheet that won’t move.

“I mean, I bet you look  _really_  good without it.”

“Is this how you got Ross into bed?”

Doris’s question doesn’t stop her. “As a matter of fact, no.” She leans up close to Doris’s ear, licks the skin beneath it and sighs. “But I somehow think that if I flash you, it won’t have the same effect. So I’m trying it another way.”

Doris gulps. “Your way sucks.”

And she grins. “Well, not yet, but it can.”

Doris gulps again. “Oh.”

She pulls at the sheet, tugging on the jersey and finally it just drops, leaving Doris standing there in nothing but a smile and Blake  _almost_  swoons.

Then she realizes she’s not going to swoon.

She’s just going to throw up.


End file.
